Two days later, my complaint comes back to me in inmate mail. Stamped across it diagonally in red, it says “Dismissed.” The following day, my letter to the SPCA is slipped through the tray trap of our cell door. It’s been opened but there’s no postmark. Those fuckers! It never even left the compound. I pace, kick stuff, stop to look at the calendar. Tomorrow’s the twenty-fifth. Merry fucking Christmas!
